Questions
by DarkTyger
Summary: Amy hides beneath her mask. Just want does she really think or her situation? What can Susie do about that? AmySusie Implied.


**Questions.**

**Authors Note:** As always, Amy is not mine but I wish she was, I thought this converstaion with a friends and my thoughts afterwards suited Amy to a 'T'.

Sometimes it doesn't seem like things will get any better. I guess I shouldn't really expect them to. Life, if I could grace it with such a term, for me hasn't been very good so it can't get better.

Life. Life is for people and I stopped being a person a long time ago if I ever really was one to begin with. Was I really? I grew up in a sewer, in the dank, cold depths of humanity's refuse. The Alley was the only home I had, my imagination my only family. I used to be happy, I think. It's hard to remember what happiness feels like when all you've known for so long has been the opposite. I catch little ripples of it sometimes when I allow myself to feel anything. Usually it's when I'm around . . . around her. But happiness is a delusion and a dream. I'm no dreamer unlike these idealistic idiots I'm forced to stay with. Forced? What's keeping me here? I think about it sometimes when I'm in my room at night. Day after day I put myself in contact with people I despise and all for what? So they can ger away scott free? So I can be reformed and converted to believe in a dream I know for a fact is a lie? My head hurts when I try to sort it out. I usually just forget it all. I have other pains to worry about considering I've got a job to do at all hours of the day. Damn criminals just can't give a girl a break either.

So why am I here? I consider this question as I skulk up from my office and into the kitchen. The darkness of the room is comforting as is the fact that I am the only one here this late at night. My whole life has existed in darkness. I was born in the darkness of the Room, survived in the hard and cruel darkness of the Hell, and now I live in the darkness of one of the fashionable houses of Mt Thomas. Yes, I am well acquainted with darkness. I have grown quite fond of it over the years.

The question of my current residence nags me again. 'Why are you here?' If I didn't know better I'd say that my head was being invaded by that insipid uncle or that red-headed witch. The voice repeats its question and I hear it as my own. 'Why are you here?' The first thought that occurs to me is cheap. 'I'm in the kitchen because I'm hungry.' A pain occurs in my side. I haven't eaten, I never do. I gingerly walk over to the fridge and open it. The light blinds me for a bit. I use it to study my box of knives on the counter. Yep, time for the sucker to come out. I grab onto one and give it a smooth tug. It slides out with little effort. I study the weapon in my hand. I hate these feelings, hate myself for even having them. It's not right, you know? Wanting to hurt someone. It's just one more reason why the others will never be able to accept someone like me. Oh sure they all put up a good front so they can remain under the impression that they're high and mighty and are doing what's morally right for all of us but deep down inside they would all hate me. Why shouldn't they hate me? I'm still the enemy even if I have to play by their rules. I'm still an ugly, freak. No one can accept someone like me. I push away those thoughts in search of food. I open the fridge and use the knife as a tool to poke and prod through its contents. I pull out a container and study it carefully. I open the lid and sniff. Can't be more than a week old. I've dumpster-dived and turned far worse into a midnight snack or even a meal. I sniff the potato salad and smirk. Human food, normal food. I really have turned into a freakin' cupcake. All this living soft with my colleages in their fancy country town really has made me a creampuff. The question nags at my brain again. 'Why are you here?'

The kitchen light suddenly flicks on. I whirl around and the knife blade in my hand sings towards someone. The instinct is so automatic it doesn't even register to me what's happening until it's already done. In thinking about it, it probably wasn't the best thing to do. Oh well, it's not like whoever it is can't just dodge it. Truth is, there are very few people in this town I wouldn't like to stick. Tom, I'd definitely love to gut. PJ and Evan aren't so bad but I wouldn't really mind if I "accidentally" stuck some of the others. There's a sudden flare of movement and the knife blade ricochets off of my intruder and sticks into the mess table.

"Amy asks a startled voice, "Sorry. did I scare you? Oh great, the hayseed. I stare at her with a confused look, sort of ashamed that I almost clipped her. I guess out of everybody, Susie's the one I hate the least. I don't think I'd really want hurt her. I don't really know how to deal with that yet.

"You. . .you surprised me," I incoherently reply, "Sorry about that, the attempt at a premature haircut and all." I mentally kick myself but what for remains the question. Do I feel stupid for accidentally attacking her or failing at it? I'm getting sloppy about acting normal. Used to that dagger would've nailed anyone right in the throat. Now? Now I can't even maim someone with a clear conscience.

"It's nothin'," replied Susie nonchalantly. I'm a little taken aback by her tone. I figured even she would chew me out. She's never once yelled at me about anything but I figure a decapitation attempt would cause some kind of hostile reaction. For some reason, her ambivalence gets under my skin even more than her raising her voice at me would.

"Besides," I add in an attempt to save face, "you couldn't scare me anyways."

"Course not," replies Susie as she pokes around in the fridge. She absently looks at the potato salad container on the counter, "You sure that's worth it, Amy? Don't look too hospitable."

"Why do you do that?" I ask in a frustrated tone, "Why do you always do that?" Susie's always nice to me. At first I thought the others put her up to it but I've heard some of the things she's said to the Boss. I've never had someone stick up for me like that before. So I revised my theory after that. I almost think she actually likes me.

"Do what?" asks Susie as she puts a piece of leftover pizza in the microwave and heats it up, "You want some? Probably better than that you've got there?"

'No thankyou'I reply.

"Fair enough," replies Susie as she takes a bite of her pizza, "Just making some conversation." Oh right. That's the last thing I need is to have a heart-to-heart with the cowpoke over some cold pizza. How freaking cliché is that shit? I stare at her.

"Susie?" I ask her suddenly, "Why're you always so nice to me?"

"Because," replies Susie as if the reason is so obvious, "Your my friend, does there has to be a reason?. I was raised to love my friends and treat them civil." Friend? Love? Those are foreign terms for me. It's been a long time since I've had either of them, too long.

"But you don't want anything from me back?" I ask her hesitantly, "I don't owe you anything?"

"Well, if your my friend I expect you to treat me like I treat you," explains Susie, "but other than that I don't want anything your not ready to give me." Great, now we're getting all cryptic and shit. This is turning into a bad romance novel.

"I. . .I don't know what I have to give," I tell her honestly, "and I'm not sure I remember how to give it to someone anyway."

"When you're ready you'll know it," says Susie sagely. She finishes her pizza and move towards the door. I stand there in silence and watch her go.

"Suse?" I say to her, "Have you ever wondered why you're here?" She stops and turns to look at me. I expect her to look at me as if I'm speaking gibberish. Pretty people like her don't question themselves all the time. Instead, she looks at me like I've caught onto something she knew a long time ago.

"Ever since I graduated from Academy and became an cop," she replies, "but I still stay anyways. I figure my heart knows the reason and that works enough to satisfy me."

"G'night, then," I tell her as I shake my head, tired from all the philosophy. Stupid, naïve country girls with their eternal optimism and pretty blue eyes.

"G'night youself, Foxy," replies Susie with a smile. She's lucky pulling another knife out would hurt too much, with my stomch or I'd sure as hell gut her for that one. I turn my attention to the knife blade stuck in the kitchen table and pull it out. I go back to the fridge and skewer a piece of pizza with the it. I like it better cold and I'm certainly not going to bother with that damn microwave.

As I chew on the pizza, my mind wanders back to my eternal question. 'Why are you here?' I try a different approach to answer the question this time. I just stand there and wait for my mind to formulate an answer without me prodding it too much. Immediately, notions of captivity and forced allegiance enter my head. I brush those aside. They haven't gotten me very far anyways.

'Because you're worth it.' The voice is not mine but rather Susie's. She sees something in me, don't ask me what because I couldn't tell you. I'm not a monster to her though, just a lonely, angry girl. To her, I'm Amy and not Abused-Battered-Girl. I don't know how but the way she sees me affects the way I see myself. I can't explain it but every time I see her smile at me there's something inside me that says it's all okay, you know? She thinks I'm worth all this hassle and trouble. She thinks I'm worth saving and redeeming and because of that I think I am too. Maybe believing in a dream isn't such a bad thing. Maybe there are things that are worth fighting and dying for after all. I finish my pizza and look around at the empty room. Being in the light's not so bad once you get used to it. Maybe my life can get a little better after all.

As always, Amy is not mine but I wish she was, I thought this converstaion with a friends and my thoughts afterwards suited Amy to a 'T'. 


End file.
